Chapter 2 - The Iron Poker
The heavy iron poker whistled through the air, catching the amber light of the dying fire. Diane’s face was transformed by a madness I had never seen in all my twenty-eight years—a hollow, feral desperate rage.
“Robert, shut your mouth!” she screamed, her voice cracking against the evening chill of the patio.
She didn't swing at my father. She swung at me. At Ava.
Ryan reacted before my brain could process the movement. He lunged across the flagstone, his shoulder crashing directly into Diane’s ribs. The iron poker clattered onto the stone patio with a deafening ring, sending a shower of orange sparks dancing into the grass. Diane hit the ground with a sharp grunt, but she didn't stay down for long. She scrambled to her hands and knees, glaring up at us like a cornered animal.
My father was shaking so violently he had to lean against the brick barbecue for support. “She has to know, Diane,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “You tried to throw our nine-day-old granddaughter into a fire! It ends tonight! I won't let you destroy another life!”
I clutched Ava against my chest, shielding her tiny body with my arms. My knees were bleeding through my jeans from where I had hit the stone, but I didn't care. Pain was irrelevant. All that mattered was the steady, frantic heartbeat of the baby in my arms.
“What document, Dad?” I demanded, tears finally burning my eyes as rage surged over the shock. “What is she afraid of? Tell me!”
Dad reached into his inner suit jacket pocket. Diane saw the motion and let out a blood-curdling shriek. She scrambled up, reaching for his arm, but Ryan stepped squarely between them. Standing six-foot-two, my husband loomed over my mother, his chest heaving, his fist clenched so tight his knuckles were stark white.
“Don’t touch him, Diane,” Ryan growled, his voice lower and darker than I had ever heard it. “Touch my family again, and I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in a state cell.”
Dad pulled a thick, yellowed envelope from his coat. The seal was broken, the paper worn down at the edges as if it had been opened and hidden away a thousand times. He thrust it into my hands.
“Take it,” Dad whispered, his eyes filled with a terrifying mix of shame and relief. “Take it and leave the state tonight. The trust... it activates on Ava’s thirtieth day. If she is alive and in your custody on day thirty, Diane loses everything.”
I glanced toward my sister. Melissa stood near the patio doors, her hands pressed firmly over her mouth. But as I looked closer at her face, I realized something horrifying. The look on Melissa’s face wasn't shock. It was guilt. She knew. She had known the whole time.
“Ryan, get the car,” I snapped, not taking my eyes off my mother.
“Claire, please—” Melissa stepped forward, her voice trembling, but I cut her off with a look so cold she froze in her tracks.
“Don't come near us,” I whispered.
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Ryan didn't waste a second. He ushered me toward the driveway, opening the door of our SUV. I strapped Ava into her rear-facing car seat with trembling hands, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. As Ryan backed down the driveway, the headlights swept across the patio.
Diane was standing by the edge of the lawn, the iron poker back in her grip, watching our tail lights disappear into the Ohio night.
